Practice Makes Perfect: A Smutlet in Three Parts
by DiableRouge
Summary: Haldir's a little stressed. Galadriel's going to help him out...sound naughty? It is. 1st part is PG-13. Later parts will be R
1. Part I

Title: Practice Makes Perfect: A Smutlet in Three Parts

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Galadriel/Haldir

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Any original ideas or characters contained are my own. My writing is not for monetary profit.

Practice Makes Perfect

(Part I)

Haldir was sure that there was trouble. Only rarely before had his Lady requested his immediate presence, and always, it had been for a matter of dire import requiring his personal attention. He was, after all, marchwarden, and as such, his duties were numerous. The tall elf strode quickly along the forest floor toward Caras Galadhon. He reached the largest mallorn and began to climb the long, winding stair up to the massive flet. The two wardens guarding the white doors to Galadriel's audience chamber, bowed to their captain as they opened the portal and ushered him in.

The White Lady, herself, sat casually at the head of the hall. Her dress surprised him so much that he stopped short. The shimmering white gown with deep décolletage revealed porcelain skin down, almost, to her navel. The translucent fabric clung to her soft, slender form, more than suggesting the contour of her lovely bosom. She reclined against the back of her chaise, legs crossed, bare feet showing from beneath her hem, arms folded lightly in her lap. She was coy as a doe, Haldir thought, a little warily. The thrill of the hunt stirred within him. Conflict also stirred. The rush he felt was incongruous with his concept of who and what she was to him.

She extended a willowy arm and beckoned him closer. He obeyed. When he reached the foot of the dais atop which she sat, he knelt, bowing his head. Already he could smell her. Her heady musk ignited his desire. From his low vantage, he could see one of her shapely calves up to the knee. He felt the blood stirring in his loins and fought to keep it down.

"I am at your service, my lady," he said quietly. She smiled.

"You may stand, Haldir," she purred. "Come. Sit by me," she continued, patting the chaise beside her. It was imprudent to disobey the softly glowing she-elf; so despite his reluctance, he climbed the few steps up to where she lounged and seated himself beside her. He stared straight ahead as she eyed him carnivorously. His obvious discomfort amused her.

"Your summons sounded urgent. Is there some emergency?" he asked, not meeting her predatory gaze. She did not answer him with words. Instead, she shifted position, leaning far forward so that her mouth was only inches from his ear. Her breath made his skin tingle. Slowly, her long slender fingers crept across the sumptuous upholstery and, finally, came to rest on his thigh. The muscle tensed reflexively beneath her palm. "My lady, please…," he whispered.

"Certainly," she grinned, running her hand quickly up and toward the inside of his thigh. He gasped sharply with both exhilaration and horror at the sensation and the sight of his queen's lovely hand crawling up his leg like a fire. Even the sound of the forest seemed to fade to absolute silence. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. When things began to move again, they did so rapidly. And when the sound returned,

"No!" he all but shouted. Her hand stopped to rest gently at the crook of his hip, but she did not recoil. He found himself panting as he turned to look, at last, into her sliver-blue eyes. She tried not to smile at the comical look of gaping shock on his face. She very nearly succeeded.

"Haldir," she said quietly, "how long have you been on the fence?" He opened his mouth a little wider to answer, but then realized that he could not remember the last time he had come in from the fence long enough to do more than restock his outpost home. He thought for a moment longer, but still could not remember.

"That doesn't explain…," he spoke cautiously. Galadriel interrupted him.

"And how long since you have been with a woman, my friend?" Again, he was unable to recall.

"I…I can't rightly say. I'm afraid I don't know," distress began to strain his voice. He was profoundly disturbed, not that he had gone without the pleasures of a partner for so long, but that he had not especially missed it. There were a few female wardens and he worked alongside them everyday. These women, though, were not available to him. They were his subordinates, and, therefore, off-limits. As though she had heard his thoughts, the White Lady asked,

"Have you never found a needful and willing warden to mate you?"

"No," he answered quietly.

"And why not?"

"They are under my command. I could never be sure they were not simply obeying me."

"I am not. You can be sure," she whispered. She leaned forward a bit further and ran her tongue up the back of his sensitive ear. His eyes rolled back and his lids fluttered involuntarily as he inhaled deeply, then sighed with pleasure. Her fingers began to tease the prominent bulge in his breeches.

"My lady, please," he pleaded.

"Call me by my name, Haldir." He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself, before continuing.

"Galadriel, please, why are you doing this?" He expected her to ignore his question and continue torturing him; but instead, she stopped.

"In truth?" she asked. He nodded. She sighed resignedly. "In truth, your brothers came to me several weeks ago. They are concerned about you. They say you've been unusually tense. Irritable even, though I suspect you haven't noticed." She paused. "I too have been a bit frustrated," she intoned confidentially, coquettishly lowering her eyes. "I thought that we might…ease our displeasure together," she drew out every word deliciously slowly.

Her voice, her aura put him at ease, soothed him. Still, she undeniably aroused him, as well. Her loamy scent permeated the air. Her ageless skin glowed vibrantly. Her white-blond hair fell loose about her, almost to the floor. His senses were alive with her. Suddenly, he began to feel the weight of those many years, so many decades, centuries even, of solitude. And in that time, never before had he been so sorely tempted or so deathly afraid of the consequences. Often he had thought of her in ways that he feared she would learn from what his face or his mind told her. Now that she was here, much as he had imagined in the long lonely nights, offering herself to him, he wanted her desperately. Yet he was unwilling to show himself to be too eager.

"And what of your lord? What of Celeborn?" he asked.

"He is none of your concern," she answered firmly.

"And my brothers?"

"They shall only know what you tell them. I trust to your discretion," she paused, lowering her eyes once more. She continued a little flatly, "You are, of course, also free to decline."

"No," said the marchwarden immediately. "Will you allow me the afternoon to prepare myself?" Galadriel nodded. "Thank you, my lady…Galadriel," he bowed. Graciously, he took her hand and kissed it softly. "Thank you."

"Come to me this evening at my chamber."

"I will." He stood, descended the steps and left her audience, smiling broadly.

END-Part I

AN: This was inspired by a Title Challenge at the Julie-Fianna Archive, a Yahoo Group


	2. Part II

Practice Makes Perfect

(Part II)

Opening the door raised an impressive cloud of dust. Haldir's face contorted with the hot, dry sting of an impending sneeze. When the cloud settled and he could see in properly, he was appalled at the state of his apartment in Caras Galadhon. Cobwebs abounded. There was a thick, furry coat of dust on all his possessions. He sighed. It had been a long time.

His bow and quiver he leaned by the door, shutting it behind him. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light inside. _If this night is to be a glorious one_, he thought, _then a bath is the first thing._ He removed his tunic and hung it on a peg by the door. As he crossed the main room to the bathroom, he shed his clothing. By the time he reached the chest by the bathroom door, he was utterly naked. He opened the large trunk which, though grubby on the outside, contained clean towels and robes. He chose his favorite long, grey, silk robe—a far cry from his usual coarse working clothes. That and a large towel, he draped over his arm and entered the bathroom.

Barrels in the canopy caught rainwater. The sun heated it in the day. And with the pull of a lever, Haldir brought it sluicing down into his bathing tub. The water was not exquisitely hot, but warm enough to steam. It had been so long since Haldir had bathed anywhere other than the icy Celebrant. Hot water seemed to him delightfully frivolous. As the water ran, Haldir trudged from the bathroom to the kitchen.

He took a bottle from the wine rack and opened it skillfully. From a cupboard above the washbasin, he removed a crystal wineglass, much more delicate than his usual ceramic mug, and filled it almost right up to the brim, creating from the light that flickered behind it, a jewel of deepest crimson. He inhaled its bouquet with relish. He took a sip. The saure libation piqued his taste buds. Though it was a sweet drink, it burned pleasantly down his throat eliciting a guttural groan of enjoyment. In one hand, he carried his glass by the rim and in the other he carried the bottle by the neck as he sauntered back to his bath, altogether more contented that when he had left.

Once the tub was full, he stepped in. He sat and leaned back, resting his broad, sinewy shoulders and back against the inclined rear wall of the tub. For a while, he simply relaxed, sipping wine. His skin began to tingle pleasantly as the alcohol took effect. He rested his glass by the bottle on the stand beside him and submerged. When he resurfaced, he procured a lump of soap from the toiletry cabinet by the tub and proceeded to scrub himself briskly. The water turned milky quickly, obscuring his body beneath it.

Clean at last, the elf reclined once more, taking up his glass again. He quickly drained it. Then, he took up the bottle…

Feeling thoroughly more presentable after his soak and more well prepared after his drink, clad all in grey silk, the marchwarden made his way toward his destination. His feet carried him toward the heart of the treetop city with little guidance from his wandering mind. His feet knew the way. Haldir had dined here with his Lord and Lady sometimes, when his duties permitted.

His mind was elsewhere. Since his encounter with Galadriel, he had been unable to reconcile his two opposing feelings on the subject. A part of him was exalted. It was true that he had not lain with a woman in at least two centuries, if his final reckoning was, indeed, correct. He was delighted that she had chosen him. That part, which was a bit more primal than he generally cared to acknowledge, was nearly frenzied with unbridled, animal lust. In fact, his lust was a fierce animal. Her first touch had awakened it. And now, it clawed and gnawed at him from within. That part was the one that seemed to be in control of his feet.

The other part of him was horrified. Her willingness to take him into her marriage bed dismayed him. As did his own complicity. This other part, which was a bit more sanctimonious than he generally cared to acknowledge, berated him for his lack of self-restraint. A lack he was now quite confident would eventually get him into trouble. The idea that this might be a trap, a test of his loyalty rather than of hers had certainly occurred to him. This part, he had almost completely managed to drink into submission.

And then he was at her door. The moment of decision seemed to stretch out before him. If he meant to decline her generous offer and return to his post, this was his last opportunity. But what a generous offer it was. He stood there, mulling. Then he had knocked, and it was too late.

"Come in," he heard. With his ears or his mind, he wasn't sure. Either way, he obeyed. He opened the door only enough to admit his lithe form and shut it soundlessly behind him. The sight that greeted him was nothing he would have imagined in even his most creative fantasies. The Lady of the Golden Wood stood before him. Her long, palest gold hair cascaded down over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Her skin, which previously had seemed to glow from within, now also twinkled like the face of the night sky in the bluish faerielights.

Sliver and gold were the dwarves' weaknesses. The elves, though, found endless fascination in the shining depths of jewels. As he drew nearer, Haldir realized that it was not her skin that sparkled, but the intricate web of mithril and diamonds she wore. The garment, if it could be called such, was masterfully crafted. Each diamond was uniquely cut to best show its fire. It could only have been a product of Durin's folk, he was sure.

The marchwarden speechlessly admired his queen. Her every minute movement, even that of her breathing, caused the stones to flash brilliantly. Haldir was so mesmerized by their beauty that he barely noticed her otherwise absolute nudity. She was unsurprised. Celeborn had had a similar response when she'd first donned it for him after he'd commissioned it from Moria.

Gradually, though, Haldir did become aware of her body beneath. If all women, the thought, were as beautiful as she, he could not have foregone them so long.

"Wine?" she asked cordially, making her graceful way to the table. Soft light danced over her alluring form. He could only stare, transfixed. She took his silence in the affirmative and poured two glasses of claret so rich that he needed only to smell it to taste it and only to taste it to know it was the finest wine he would ever encounter. She smiled warmly, indulgently as she padded across the room, holding the glass out to him. He took it. The wine was, indeed, the finest he had ever tasted.

Now that she was so close, he suddenly felt a bit overdressed. Drink had also warmed him past the point of comfort. He undid the toggle highest at his throat.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable," she smiled radiantly. He returned it, a little nervously, and took another large sip before he began to unfasten his robe.

"I am at your service," he said, mantle open from neck to hem. Galadriel surveyed him appraisingly. Her eyes moved over his broad, strong chest, down his taught belly, over his jutting hips, and down his well-muscled legs. She was pleased with her choice.

Gently, she set her glass and his on a nearby table. Then, she took a step toward him. She was so close. He could feel the heat of her body, feel her energy connecting with his own, encompassing them both. Long fingers stroked his chest. Silk caressed his golden skin as she pushed the robe from his shoulders. It fell like a shadow from him. He stood tall and proud before her, an Adonis, presenting himself for her inspection. She drew nearer still.

"My service? No," she whispered, her voice sultry in his ear. "This night is for you, Haldir. You must tell me what you desire." He was, again, rendered speechless.

"Galadriel, I…I cannot. Already, I owe you too much," he said.

"You owe me nothing," she said with a hint of annoyance

"Please, my lady I desire nothing more than to serve you."

"No," she said simply. Contempt was etched on her face. A lesser elf would have quailed under such a look. It awakened in him something akin to defiance. But her silver-blue eyes told a different tale. There, for a moment, Haldir thought he saw a flicker of pleading. Yes, that was it. Her eyes implored him. At last, he understood. The marchwarden drew himself up importantly. His eyes and voice, among other things, hardened. When he spoke, it was with an authoritative, even menacing growl.

"I will not tolerate insubordination, woman."

She was pleased…very pleased. Her eyes sparkled more brilliantly than did any of the magnificent jewels she wore. He was relieved when she smiled. That answer had been the right one.

"I will have you," he rumbled fiercely, stepping toe to toe with her. Tall as she was, he towered over her. Galadriel had long since wiped the gleeful smile from her face and replaced it with an insolent smirk.

"Will you?" Her haughty disdain was convincing. "And if I refuse?"

"I will take you."

"Then take me. If you can," she purred. She turned from him, leaving him intrigued, momentarily perplexed, and quite naked. He watched her gloriously bejeweled haunches sway as she walked away. The sight of her lovely back sent a curious thrill through him. Hot, predatory lust coursed through him. It ached within him, slavering to be released. He longed to rush her back, bear her to the ground, and possess her. Instead, he appreciated the view for a moment longer as he gulped the remainder of his excellent glass of wine, then strode after his quarry.

A/N: Here's Part II…to be presented in its entirety at and in my livejournal


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